Gordon's Whale
by littlepieces
Summary: After injuring the world’s most famous whale during a rescue mission, Gordon is not in a very good mood at all...
1. Chapter 1

This story is inspired from the TV series. I don't own these characters or have any connection to anything Thunderbird-ish. Any comments more than welcome.

**Note: I updated this chapter on the 26-Feb – just slight grammar edits for clarity, but no major plot changes, so there is no need to re-read it if you've already done so.**

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Chapter 1

Gordon braced himself as he sat in the pilot seat of Thunderbird 4. Even though he knew pod 4 had impact compensators to dampen the back breaking jolt when it hit the sea, Virgil had never dropped it from the belly of Thunderbird 2 at such a great height.

When the impact came it was noticeable harder than usual. Gordon frowned and checked his instruments for any possible damage. He then radioed Virgil.

'Thunderbird 4 to Thunderbird 2, opening Pod door now.'

The pod door lowered to reveal a heaving sea being lashed by rain. Water from both the sea and rain began to stream in.

'Launching Thunderbird 4, now,' said Gordon, hitting the rocket launchers, hardly waiting for the launch track to complete its extension down the ramp into the ocean. He switched on the automatic system to close the pod back up. The pod was built to float even if swamped, but the less water sloshing around inside the better.

Thunderbird 4 dove under the rolling waves into dark water.

He turned on the sonar. The rescue target was a floundering tourist submarine that had gone out whale watching and been caught in a severe storm that had damaged its rudder system. Several attempts by divers to attach a magnetised line from a retrieval ship had failed as the storm worsened.

An insistent bip from the sonar told him the sub was down on the sea floor about three hundred metres to portside.

He turned his forward lights to full. Bits of coral and the occasional unlucky fish swept past his cockpit window.

He steered his craft toward the sonar's reading. He nearly missed seeing the dim glow from the tourist sub's lights. The sub was bobbing about like a toy, its rear end dragging along the sea floor tearing up more coral and sand.

Gordon flicked the mike switch on his steering column with his thumb.

'Thunderbird 4 to Thunderbird 1. I have located the tourist sub. It'll take me a little while to assess the situation.'

'Well don't take too long, Gordon. The captain of the retrieval ship is ready to drop the magnetic line any time you need.'

Yeah, yeah, thought Gordon. Hold onto your hats. This isn't going to be easy.

Instead he said, 'F.A.B. I'll tell you when I'm ready.'

He switched off the mike.

He edged closer to the sub to get a better look. Its front end was now swinging away from him as the currents changed.

His sonar emitted a second bip. He glanced down at it. Something approached from starboard. He looked out the right cockpit window but saw nothing at first. Then a very faint and ghostly white shape emerged from the gloom.

A whale. A white whale.

Great, all I need is a large marine mammal getting in my way, he thought.

It was clear the whale was struggling in the waters, but it seemed intent on investigating the lights from the little yellow rescue craft.

'Thunderbird 1 to Thunderbird 4. Gordon, what's the holdup?'

Gordon swallowed down a retort. He flicked the mike's on-switch with his thumb.

'I'm having difficulty. Hold on.'

The whale swam over his craft.

'Go away,' Gordon muttered.

'Thunderbird 4, say again,' Scott ordered.

Gordon frowned. He'd left the mike on.

'Nothing. I'm ready to go. Relaying my co-ordinates for the line, now.'

'F.A.B., Gordon.'

The whale had undulated away portside. Gordon looked back at the tourist sub swaying in the water.

He heard a faint clunk. Was that a chunk of coral hitting him? Then it dawned on him and he snorted with annoyance. It was a million to one shot but the retrieval ship had managed to hit him with its magnetised line.

'Thunderbird 4 to Thunderbird 1. The line has made a direct hit on me. Tell them to demagnetise. I'll collect it and put it in position and let you know when it is safe to magnetise it.'

Once Scott let him know that the line was free of him he turned Thunderbird 4 in a tight circle and began searching for it. Even this close it took him some time to find it in the dark water. Each time he tried catching the line with his craft's grabs the current swept it just out of reach. It took him ten minutes to finally get hold of it.

As he was turning to find the tourist sub again Scott's voice boomed over the speaker.

'Thunderbird 1 to Thunderbird 4. How's it going, Gordon?'

'It would go a lot better if I wasn't interrupted ever five minutes,' Gordon snapped before he could stop himself.

There was silence for just a beat and he could imagine Scott frowning as he decided how to form a reply that would get the result that was needed without inflaming an already tense situation.

'Have you got the line in position yet, Gordon?' Scott said with forced calmness.

'No. I have the line but I am not yet in position, Scott,' Gordon replied with clipped clarity.

'Then get the line on the sub, tell me when you have, and then get the sub stablised. Conditions have deteriorated up here and the retrieval ship will have to abandon the seas soon.'

'F.A.B.,' Gordon said in a tone that meant _shut the hell up_.

He swung his craft up and over the tourist sub, adjusting his angle so he was directly centre top of it, and then radioed Scott.

"Tell them to magnetise now, Scott."

A few seconds passed and then the line took. He retracted his grabs and swung his craft up and over in a tight loop until he was facing the side of the sub. Nice work if he did say so himself. He extended his magnetic grabs but the sub was bobbing around too much for him to move in just yet.

Just then his sonar bipped a warning. He knew without looking that the whale was back. He ignored the warning, concentrating fully on the sub which was dancing around erratically in the strengthening currents.

Suddenly the proximity warning sounded. He shot a glance at the sonar. The whale was right upon him. Thunderbird 4 shifted slightly as the whale, like a cow using a post to scratch, stroked its body along the hull of his craft.

'I don't have time for this,' Gordon muttered, a surge of irritation gripping him.

The white whale's head came into view in his side window.

He throttled his craft slightly starboard to give the whale a slight bump to frighten it off, but an unexpected current pushed him far quicker than he'd intended. He hit the whale hard. It rolled over and swam off, a long ribbon of blood drifting after it.

'Damn it!' Gordon smacked a fist on his control panel.

He lined up his craft with the sub, magnetic grabs at the ready and throttled forward. He just needed to get this over with. Too late he realised he was going too fast and he hit the sub with a muffled clunk that hurled him forward into his steering column.

'Damn it to Hell!' he yelled. He did a quick check to make sure the grabs were firmly attached to the sub and then checked his instruments. No damage. Looking at the sub he couldn't see any damage either.

'Thunderbird 1 to Thunderbird 4,' broke in Scott. 'What's up, Gordon!? The sub has reported a collision.'

'Nothing. It's rough down here,' Gordon responded, his fingers probing his ribcage where he'd hit the steering column

'Are you ready to start retrieval?' Scott asked.

No, just wait until I finish knitting this freakin' sweater, he thought but instead said, 'Yes.'

'We'll have to speed it up, Gordon. The waves are like seas up here. I'm having trouble stabilising in the storm.'

Gordon resisted pointing out that waves couldn't really be described as seas. He gripped his steering column tightly and waited.

Nothing happened. He waited some more. Still nothing happened. He was clamped tight to a sub that wasn't going anywhere.

'Thunderbird 1 to Thunderbird 4,' Scott's voice was now harsh. 'Are you ready to start retrieval?'

'F.A.B.' Gordon enunciated each letter as if he was talking to a very backward child.

The tourist sub lurched and rose so fast that it took Gordon by surprise. Gee, conditions must have gotten really rough if they're breaking their necks to pull us up this fast.

Gordon watched the retrieval ship's location on the sonar. The dangerous part was about to come.

They broke the waterline. Monstrous waves battered them as rain poured down from a lightning streaked sky.

Scott wasn't kidding. The storm was near hurricane force.

He used his engines to help guide the sub closer to the retrieval vessel which was reeling it in, getting ready to hoist it up to its side. It would then secure the sub to some special rigging before heading for land.

He ignored the fear that sat in the pit of his stomach. The whole world was lurching up and down several metres every few seconds. Those tourists must be getting shook up like ball bearings in a paint can, but he was more worried about colliding with the ship – if that happened, it would win.

He decided there was no need to put himself in more danger than necessary, so he demagnetised his grabs and dove Thunderbird 4 away and sped off. The rest of the rescue was the responsibility of the ship.

He turned on the automatic pod detector, then his mike.

'Thunderbird 4 to Thunderbird 2. Virgil, mission accomplished. Making my way back to the Pod. I'll coordinate the rendezvous point when I get there.'

'That's a negative, Gordon,' Scott's tense voice broke in before Virgil could answer. 'Stay where you are in case the sub breaks free of the retrieval ship and they need further assistance.'

'F.A.B.' Gordon sighed.

He let the sea toss him around. He was feeling a bit seasick, a rare thing for him. After more than twenty minutes Scott radioed him.

'The tourist sub is now safely docked,' he said, his relief clear. 'Make your way back to the pod, Gordon. I'm on my way back to base.'

Gordon nearly announced that he was off to Alcopulco actually, but bit his tongue.

It took thirty more minutes to locate the pod and align his craft correctly to attempt a re-entry. He grappled with the re-board, swearing all the way, until finally he was on board and secure. He closed it up, relief washing over him as he called Virgil to let him know he was ready for pickup.

'Thunderbird 2 to Thunderbird 4. Gordon, it's too rough for a safe collection at this time. The worst of the storm should've passed in approximately twenty minutes. Are you ok to wait 'til then?'

'Well, I suppose I'll have to be,' he replied not bothering to hide his irritation.

He watched the clock on his onboard computer panel crawl the twenty minutes away, tapping his fingers unrhythmically on the steering column. Several minutes late Virgil called him.

'Thunderbird 2 to Thunderbird 4. Ready for pick up Gordon?'

Gordon didn't respond.

'Er, Thunderbird 2 to Thunderbird 4. Are you read for pick up, Gordon?'

He leisurely flicked on the mike.

'F.A.B., Virgil.'

He waited for the clunk that told him Thunderbird 2 had lowered itself to the pod and retracted it up into its belly. Gordon took his time doing the standard power-down and safety checks before he left his craft and took the service door out of the pod to Thunderbird 2's flight deck.

He was surprised to see how clear the late afternoon sky was through the cockpit windows, but then remembered they were heading back east away from the storm and they must have travelled some way already since he'd boarded.

'Tough job,' Virgil said over his shoulder from the pilot's seat.

'Well, I don't know why you would think it was so tough since you didn't actually do anything,' Gordon snapped.

Virgil glanced back at him but said nothing.

Gordon knew he should apologise immediately but couldn't be bothered, so he didn't say anything.

The silence during the return flight to base was icy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Note: I updated this chapter on the 26-Feb – just slight grammar edits for clarity, but no major plot changes, so there is no need to re-read it if you've already done so.**

Feedback more than welcome!

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Chapter 2

Back at base, Gordon strode from Thunderbird 2 without a backward glance, leaving Virgil to do the post-flight checks alone. Heading to the showers in the main Tracy villa, Gordon managed to avoid running into anyone. The hot water did not improve his mood.

Towelling his hair he went to his bedroom. He put on his jeans and an old but clean t-shirt and one of his favourite loafers. He looked around for its mate but couldn't see it. He had just started scrounging under his bed for it, when he heard a sound at the door.

Still on all fours, he looked up. Scott stood in the doorway. He was still in his blue uniform and it was clear he hadn't even so much as grabbed a coffee since his return, at least an hour before. Knowing Scott's dedication Gordon presumed he'd headed down to Thunderbird 2's hangar to help Virgil with the post-flight checks and, finding Gordon not there, was now here to give him a lecture.

This thought made Gordon frown.

'Hey,' Scott said flatly.

Scott was clearly waiting for him to say something but the last thing Gordon wanted was to 'have a talk' with Scott about the details of a crappy mission.

Scott took a step into the room, his face softening into a look of real concern which irritated Gordon even more.

'You ok?' he asked quietly.

'Yes,' Gordon snapped, not bothering to hide his hostility, and turned back to continue the search for his lost shoe.

'What happened today?' Scott asked ignoring Gordon's tone.

Gordon shrugged but then realised Scott wouldn't have seen it since he was partially wedged under his bed. He didn't care, so he said nothing.

'Come on Gordon,' said Scott in exasperation. 'Something's up. You were all over the place. You weren't on the mike enough, you weren't concentrating…'

'Hey, it was a successful mission!' Gordon snapped as he pulled the shoe from its dark hiding spot. He got up and plonked himself on his bed, jamming the recalcitrant shoe forcibly on his foot.

'Yes, it was a success,' Scott said in a tone that sounded like he was struggling to be reasonable, 'but that doesn't mean things couldn't have been better. We're just lucky things went well in those conditions. Virgil says…'

'I'm not really interested in what _Virgil_ has to say,' Gordon hissed.

Scott opened his mouth to say something just as Alan poked his head around the door.

'Hey, guys!' Alan said, practically jumping in the room. Having been left back at base this mission, he was clueless about the tension between his older brothers.

Alan paused when neither responded to him, since picking up emotional cues from people was not his forte even at the best of times. Then he remembered he had a message.

'Dad wants to debrief now in the lounge if you're up to it. He says to get it out of the way since it's getting late.'

'Tell him we'll be right there,' Scott said authoritatively, looking at Gordon as he crossed his arms.

Alan, surprised at Scott's tone, glanced in his direction, then at Gordon expectantly. Gordon ignored him by towelling his hair more vigorously than was necessary, his jaw set.

Finally sensing something serious was up, Alan backed out of the room quietly as if he'd mistakenly wandered into a lair of sleeping lions.

When they were alone again, Scott continued.

'This is no good, Gordon…'

Gordon got up, threw the towel carelessly across the room, and sauntered past Scott out of the room, frowning the entire time.

He found Alan, who'd just sat down on a sofa at the coffee table, their usual place for the debriefs. Gordon slide into one of the two free-standing leather chairs. Alan looked about to say something but thought the better of it as Virgil entered the room and came over to sit on the sofa opposite Alan. Both Gordon and Virgil ignored each other.

Gordon shifted his posture to what he thought would make him look casual and carefree. He had to stop himself grinding his teeth as they waited.

Alan, lost for something to say, began kicking a leg of the coffee table nervously.

Scott and Jeff came in together. Their father was looking at a sheaf of paper in his hand, frowning, which wasn't an unusual look for him when he was concentrating. Jeff sat on the sofa next to Virgil so that he was within arm's length of Gordon. Scott sat in the other chair directly opposite Gordon, but didn't look at him across the coffee table.

Jeff put down his notes on the table. Everyone waited for him to speak. The silence stretched. Alan, suddenly realising his father was glowering at him, froze his foot mid-kick and tried to look as if he had not been kicking the coffee table leg, and had no intention of ever doing so again in his lifetime.

'Right,' said Jeff. 'Scott, report.'

Gordon had always considered his father's formal way of debriefing unnecessary and pedantic, but Jeff had repeated often enough that it was important to demarcate 'formal' work time from 'informal' family time. Keeps things clean and _compartmentalised_, Jeff said in his commanding voice, and so far no-one had dared to argue.

Scott, as team leader, began his report by outlining the arrival at the rescue scene, the assessment of the situation and conditions, the events of the rescue, the role of the local authorities, and the general wash up after the rescue. His tone was even, and he reported only the vital facts.

At the end, he paused for a beat and then added that the weather had been bad and there had been delays due to communication problems.

'Communication problems? What communication problems?' their father asked, alert as ever to even the slightest hint of a problem.

No-one volunteered an answer. Alan looked at Scott, then Virgil, then Gordon, but all three studiously ignored him. Alan slumped slightly on the sofa and started taking a great interest in the wood grain of the table.

Gordon, who was looking past Scott out through the glass doors to the darkened balcony beyond, caught the glance Scott threw his way. Jeff didn't miss the look, and snapped his head around to look at Gordon. Knowing he couldn't pretend not to see his father's gaze, Gordon turned to look at his face.

'What communication problems?' Jeff repeated.

Gordon resisted the urge to squirm. Why had Scott mentioned it when they'd already discussed it and the mission had been a success?

'It was hard,' Gordon mumbled.

'Hard?' said Jeff incredulously.

Gordon nodded.

Gordon could see, just beyond his father, Virgil staring fixedly at the wall opposite him.

Jeff narrowed his eyes slightly.

'What about the three civilians who got concussion during the retrieval?' Jeff asked.

Gordon blinked. He hadn't heard about this. He looked at the paper on the coffee table, and saw it was one of the standard print-outs from Thunderbird 5 that summarised what John could get from the authorities after each rescue mission. Gordon couldn't make out the details and he didn't dare pick it up in case this annoyed his father.

Gordon shrugged. 'Tricky currents…'

'Tricky currents!' said Jeff, his voice harsh.

Gordon nodded once.

'Are you telling me,' his father growled, 'that the best underwater craft in the world, able to withstand anything the sea can throw at it, with _supposively_ the best pilot in the world, couldn't cope with 'tricky currents'?'

Gordon breathed out silently trying to keep a lid on his growing anger. He turned his gaze back to his father just in time to see a not uncommon expression cross Jeff's face that, if spoken out loud, would have said _I'm not happy with this situation and I'm particularly not happy with you, sonny_.

Gordon said nothing and kept his father's gaze. Jeff didn't flinch and waited. Gordon, suddenly feeling deflated, looked away, hating himself for giving up.

'Anything else?' said Jeff at last in a low voice, eyes still locked on Gordon.

Gordon, not sure if his father was now talking to him or asking Scott for any additional information, said, 'No, everything went fine, given the conditions.'

'Right,' said Jeff decisively. 'Obviously we need some more practice going over procedures. Scott, I want to talk to you.'

Jeff rose and strode off, Scott following him.

Gordon, surprised that his father had terminated the meeting so suddenly, but still resentful that he was the focus of negative questioning, got up and left without a backward glance at either Virgil or Alan.


	3. Chapter 3

**Note: Like the previous chapters, I've updated this chapter on the 26-Feb – just slight grammar edits, etc, but no plot changes, so there's no need to re-read it again.**

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Chapter 3

'…_and news just to hand – it appears that Migaloo4, the rare and famous white whale, was caught up in yesterday's daring International Rescue mission. Thirty people were rescued by the secret rescue organisation from a stranded tourist submarine just off the Australian coast. Earlier this morning, the whale was seen floundering in waters near the town of Hervey Bay. We'll cross now to our on the spot reporter, Gregory Flinton, for more information about this worrying development. Greg?'_

'_That's right Katherine - early this morning whale experts sighted the famous white whale, Migaloo4, off the coast of Queensland. The whale was first seen by a local man out for some early morning fishing. He reported his sighting to the authorities after seeing a deep gash to the whale's side. Marine biologists, who took a boat out a short time ago, have confirmed that the whale is injured. They weren't able to get too close as the distressed whale moved off into deeper waters. _

_For those viewers not familiar with the whale or yesterday's daring rescue…the tourist submarine had been out on a sightseeing trip specifically to see the rare whale in the Great Barrier Reef, when it became stranded…the sub that is, Katherine…and it is now believed that Migaloo4 was caught up in the rescue mission and is most likely to have been hit by the rescue craft known as a Thunderbird. There are no further details of the whale's condition but experts are deeply concerned about the world's only albino whale. Back to you Katherine…'_

Alan sat upright from where he'd been slumped on the sofa.

'Hey, you never said anything last night about hitting a whale,' he said to Gordon, who sat next to him.

Gordon sipped his mid-morning coffee and said nothing.

'Hit a whale,' Alan said in amazement as if it was the most astonishing thing he'd ever heard. 'Imagine that.'

Gordon sipped his coffee more intently. He didn't have to imagine anything.

'And not just any whale but the world's only living white whale, from a long line of famous white whales, since, well before the turn of the century, so they say,' Alan continued half to himself.

'Shut up, Alan,' muttered Gordon, but Alan didn't seem to hear him.

'You never said anything about it last night. Did you see it?'

He turned expectantly, but his brother was pretending to be mesmerised by the morning news stock report.

'You must've seen it, Gordo! I mean, a white whale would be hard to miss,' Alan continued sounding a bit confused, as if trying to nut out a particularly hard crossword clue. 'I mean a whale is hardly something you wouldn't see, but a big white one must be really hard to miss…'

'Alan, shut up,' Gordon said loudly.

'Oh, don't worry Gordon!' his brother said brightly, mistaking Gordon's reticence with embarrassment. 'It's not _your_ fault that you ran into a white whale. It shouldn't have gotten in the way. It should've seen you. After all it is a marine animal and it should've been able to see you better than you could see it.' He waited for a response from Gordon, but when he didn't get one, he decided his brother needed some extra cheering up. 'And you know, it was difficult and you were tired and all…'

'Alan, shut up!' shouted Gordon, surprising even himself. 'And who says I was tired?'

Alan was more shocked than hurt, since Gordon never really shouted at anyone, let alone him.

'Well…er…everyone,' Alan stumbled. 'Scott says you've been tired, and Dad says you've done a lot of hard missions recently so you're stressed.'

Gordon could hardly believe his ears. Stressed? So, people had been talking about him behind his back and questioning his competence!

He got up without a word and strode out on to the balcony leaving a confused Alan on the sofa. Throwing the small amount of coffee left in his mug over the railing, he watched it fall into the gardens two stories below without really seeing it.

Damn that whale! Now the whole world was going to think that International Rescue had run into a whale and left it for dead. Was he supposed to feel guilty about that? Hell, no. If the stupid whale hadn't got in the way in the first place he wouldn't have people questioning _his_ successful rescue mission as if it was a failure.

'Gordon,' a stern voice said behind him. He turned. It was his father. 'In my study - now.'

Gordon followed his father to his study, passing a worried looking Alan on the sofa.

His father sat down at his desk, the TV screen to one side was showing the weather report.

'Sit,' Jeff barked.

Gordon sat in the chair opposite. Jeff looked at his second youngest like an entomologist appraising a bug on a pin.

'What is this about a whale?' Jeff asked.

Gordon considered for a moment and decided he may as well tell the truth.

'I hit a whale.'

'Really,' his father said in mock surprise, 'so I just heard. On the _television_. On the _morning news_. Funny, how you didn't mention it last night, when we were sitting right next to each other, talking about the mission _in detail_.'

Gordon said nothing and looked at the TV. His father stabbed a button on his table's control panel and the picture shut off.

'Forgot did we?' Jeff said with quiet sarcasm.

Gordon took in a slow, deep breath and concentrated really hard on _not_ rolling his eyes.

One thing he hated more than his father's stickling for rules was his father's not so thinly veiled sarcasm.

'I didn't think it was important. It didn't have anything to do with the mission. It got in the way…'

'_You_ didn't _think _it was _important_ to mention hitting a _whale_. Even after I asked you if there was anything else to report, and you said 'no'. Now, unless I'm going crazy, hitting a large marine mammal does not count as _nothing_. Most folks would say hitting a whale is a _little_ out of the ordinary, and therefore, an _important something_ worth reporting!'

Gordon said nothing. He knew his father had already made up his mind, and no amount of _explaining_ how hard it all was, was going to make any difference.

'Did anything else 'get in the way', eh? Anything else _you_ don't consider _important_ to report?'

'Nothing,' Gordon shrugged as if bored but when he looked back at his father, he saw the other man's raw anger.

'Nothing?' Jeff's said through gritted teeth.

He waited, but when Gordon refused to answer, he stood up, towering over Gordon.

'Nothing! What about that other thing in the water – the submarine. You remember the submarine, don't you, Gordon? The one full of terrified people, the one that you were suppose to save. The one you ran into, injuring _three_ people.'

'I didn't run into them!' Gordon shouted back, feeling the bile rising.

'No?' his father _was _shouting now. 'Then perhaps you can explain why Brains and TinTin found marks on Thunderbird 4 that show it ran into something. A something that is painted the exact same colour as that tourist sub!'

Gordon felt the room shrink and heard a strange roaring in his ears. Heat rose around his head like fire.

'Hey,' he yelled, jumping out of his chair, no longer able to contain himself, 'I saved those people! And in massive seas while a damn whale kept getting in the damn way, and while other people, safely out of harm's way, harassed me with stupid questions!'

His father slowly put his clamped fists on his desk and leaned forward, looking like a volcano about to erupt. 'Really,' he hissed, his eyes steely. 'And when did you plan to mention that you smashed into a submarine, endangering everyone in it, while nearly killing a damn rare and damn famous whale which now the international media is blaming International Rescue for nearly killing! Huh, tell me when? Tomorrow? The next day? Ten years from now!'

'I rescued them!' Gordon yelled but his voice cracked and he felt a wave of exhaustion descend on him.

His father, stony faced, looked at him and waited. Gordon knew that look. He'd seen that face when Gordon had wanted to go off to train for the Olympics rather than concentrate on his studies. It was a look of disappointment and disapproval.

But just like then, Gordon refused to cow-tow now.

'Clearly, something went wrong,' his father said quietly. 'Poor communication, mistakes during the mission, lying and an attitude that stinks.'

He sat down and continued. 'I think you need to reassess what you are actually meant to be doing here.' Gordon knew Jeff was talking to him not as father to son, but boss to employee. 'To do that I'm going to give you a little thinking time. You're suspended.'

Gordon was both surprised and not the least bit surprised, but at the same time he didn't really care.

'Fine,' was all he could voice and before his father could add anything he turned on his heel and strode out of the room.

Once in his bedroom he spent several minutes striding back and forth, seething. Then he threw himself down on his bed, rolled over and stared at the ceiling while grinding his teeth. He turned his head and reached out and prodded the wooden side of his bed table unit. A little wedge of wood popped out with a small 'click'. He pulled this open further to reveal a slot.

In a house of rowdy boys, use to rummaging through each others stuff and discussing anything of interest over the breakfast table (he should know, he'd done it often enough) it paid to have a hiding place for valuables.

He reached in the narrow gap and pulled out an envelope, its side already carelessly ripped open. Removing the card from the envelope, Gordon read it for the umpteenth time. He knew what it said almost by heart.

It was a wedding invitation he'd received a week ago. The wedding invitation of Carol Brooks to Paul Stewart.

His ex-girlfriend getting married to the guy he'd supervised at WASP.

He got up and walked over to the mirror, envelope in hand. He stared at his reflection without really seeing.

He made a decision. He didn't care if it was the right one or not. He had to get away, from his father, his brothers and International Rescue.


	4. Chapter 4

**Note: I updated this chapter on the 26-Feb – just slight grammar edits but no major plot changes, so there's no need to re-read it if you already have.**

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Chapter 4

Gordon was already streaking away on the fastest Tracy jet from the island when his father, alerted by the security radar, radioed him and asked what the _hell_ he thought he was doing. A momentary twinge of guilt was drowned by a wave of resentment as he reminded himself that if he'd stayed at home, suspended as he was, he'd have had days of brotherly pep talks and sour looks from his father to face.

So he ignored his father's calls.

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Feeling very James Bond, Gordon drove his hired red Porsche into the Californian headquarters of the W.A.S.P. Luckily the security guard remembered him from three years earlier, and, after some admiring words about the beautiful car, the guard cheerily waved him through without requiring the usual security permits.

Gordon sprang from the Porsche after hastily parking it in the first space he could find. Screw parking tickets – Tracy Corp could pay for it if it was towed.

The warm glow of being back at his old stomping grounds was quickly quenched by the receptionist. He didn't recognise her and she blinked at him coldly when he announced his name. When he asked for Carol, she told him that Ms Brooks was not available for visitors that morning. When he asked her to try Paul, she frowned as she made the call. She was clearly put out when Paul agreed to see Gordon, muttering something about 'rules'.

Knowing the place like the back of his hand, Gordon found Paul's office easily. He felt a twinge of jealousy as he approached the closed door – how had Paul managed in just three years to jump so many rungs in the organisation that he got one of the best offices?

At his knock Paul opened the door and shook his hand vigorously.

'Gordo, how are you! Look at you. Brown as a berry. Take a seat, take a seat.'

Since when did Paul call him Gordo? Gordon supposed he couldn't really take offence since they were no longer co-workers, but he felt his irritation rising.

Paul's desk seemed clear of work and his computer terminals were on idle. Gordon sat himself down on a soft leather chair that he was sure wasn't standard issue office furniture.

'Drink?' Paul asked.

Gordon glanced at a clock on the far wall. He was surprised to see it had just gone on 11:30am, then reminded himself his flight from Tracy Island had brought him eastward so he was flying back into the morning by a couple of hours.

'Yeah, sure,' Gordon said, shrugging mentally. Why not. It wasn't like he needed to be anywhere else.

'So, tell me what have you been up to, eh? Heard you are living on a tropical island owned by your Dad. Working for him now, eh?'

Gordon nodded while swallowing some of the Jack Daniels handed to him, which gave him a nice excuse to cover a slight grimace at Paul's comment.

'You're looking good, man,' Paul said breezily. 'How's the injuries, eh?'

Memories of Paul's social tactlessness came flooding back. What on Earth did Carol see in him?

'Fine,' Gordon said perkily. 'Good as new. In fact, I'm fitter now then I was before the crash.' A slight white lie, but why should he say anything derogatory about himself when Paul was clearly willing to do all the work in that department. 'How's W.A.S.P.?'

'Great, great. I got this great office, see!' Paul swung his arm around in a flourish, finishing it by pointing at the wonderful view of the sea framed in the window.

'Nice view,' Gordon offered grudgingly.

'And I'm getting married!'

'Yes, I got the wedding invitation…'

'You're coming aren't you, man?' said Paul enthusiastically. Gordon wondered for the first time which of the couple had suggested he be invited.

'I'll try to make it, of course.'

'I'm sure you will. We're expecting a very pricey wedding gift!' Paul gave a rather ugly snort.

Gordon took another swig and wondered how much more he could take of this before he could ask when Carol would be free.

'So, how's the bride-to-be?' he asked.

'Listen up, man, I'm having lunch with Carol. Why don't you come and see yourself?'

Gordon didn't hesitate. 'Sure, sure. I'm up for it.'

'Why don't you just wander around for a bit – let me get some work done and I'll meet you in reception in about forty minutes. Then we can have a real chat.'

Gordon spent the time trying to locate some of his favourite old work colleagues, only to find there didn't seem to be that many still working there. New faces were everywhere and he felt like an interloper and a little depressed that he'd lost touch with so many people in such a short time. No-one seemed to be very interested in him after asking about his accident or politely inquiring what he did at his father's company.

At the designated time he found himself back at reception being pointedly ignored by the receptionist. Paul didn't offer an apology when he turned up thirty minutes late.

When they walked into the car park, Paul whistled at the Porsche in appreciation.

'Is that yours? You can drive then, man. You can be my chauffeur!'

During the short drive to the restaurant Paul chatted relentlessly, bragging about his great work at W.A.S.P., about Carol's great work at W.A.S.P., how lucky he was to get the best-looking gal in the world, and how easy Gordon's life must be given he was a member of the Jet-set.

By the time they parked, Gordon's fixed smile was hurting his jaw.

Gordon saw Carol first when they walked into the restaurant. She was twirling a swizzle stick aimlessly in her cocktail glass, looking bored. As they approached, she looked up with a scowl.

'You're la…' she stopped short at the sight of Gordon.

The idiot didn't phone her to warn her I was coming along, thought Gordon.

'Look who's turned up,' Paul said too loudly, people at nearby tables looking around to see who was causing a disturbance.

'Gordon, how are you?' Carol asked. Her mouth was smiling but her eyes were wary.

'I'm great,' said Gordon, feeling like he was visiting a super polite dentist.

'You're so brown,' Carol added.

'That's what I said. Look at him. Fit as a fiddle. Have you ordered, baby?'

Carol glanced sharply at Paul.

'No, but I ordered a drink while I waited.'

'Ah, yes, busy morning. How's your morning been?'

After ordering drinks and food, the next twenty minutes were spent with Carol outlining her work hassles and the latest office gossip about people Gordon didn't know. Paul interrupted constantly to add his own salacious comments about his underlings and their inefficiencies.

Gordon felt like the proverbial third wheel.

'It won't do for us to be here too long,' said Paul when the food arrived. 'We've got to set a good example for the troops – no long boozy lunches for the bosses!'

He smiled at Carol, who managed a small smile back.

Gordon automatically assumed that they did this a few times per week.

'So, I see Paul is making an honest woman out of you?' said Gordon, regretting his choice of words as soon as they came out of his mouth. Carol glanced at him suspiciously, but then gave a slight nod.

'Yes, yes, finally convinced her,' said Paul. 'Just took a few years.'

The conversation lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. Gordon wondered why coming here had struck him as such a good idea that s morning. Carol's reaction to him was confusing.

Carol started a conversation about the quality of the seasonal fruit garnishing their meals. Then they talked about the weather. Then they talked about global aquatic security patrols. They talked about anything but old times.

'…and that whale. What's happened to that whale?' Paul was asking, and Gordon realised he had tuned out for several minutes. For a second he thought Paul was asking him personally, as if he knew he was responsible for its predicament.

Luckily Carol spoke first.

'I saw a news alert before coming here. It looks like it might not make it.'

Gordon poked at the remains of his prawn cocktail, nodding in a way that he hoped made him look sympathetic but nonplussed.

'They blame International Rescue, you know,' she added. 'Everyone says they should have alerted the environmental authorities as soon as it happened so something could've been done earlier.'

'Like what?' snorted Paul. 'International Rescue barely saved those people. If a whale gets in the way, then too bad! It _is_ only a whale, after all.'

Gordon was taken aback at how much Paul had momentarily sounded like Alan.

'Some lover of the sea you turn out to be!' said Carol with a light laugh.

'I'm part of a security service, not an animal rescue service!' said Paul chirpily.

Gordon felt suddenly sick to his stomach, and blessedly, Carol suddenly announced that she had to get back to work for a meeting.

'What meeting?' Paul asked innocently, and Carol shot him a look.

Gordon pretended not to see. Geez, this guy was a dimwit.

'Gordo can drive us back,' said Paul as he sculled his drink. 'He has a Porsche.'

Once they were in the car and on their way back to W.A.S.P., Paul had a sudden thought.

'Why don't you come out tonight, Gordo. Just us and some of the boys. Few drinks, eh?'

Gordon found himself nodding in agreement even though he didn't feel like doing it. He had to look for a hotel for starters, and he desperately needed to buy some clothes, since he'd brought nothing with him when he'd stormed off Tracy Island.

When Carol got out of the car, she turned to him and nodded like a teacher dismissing class. He felt small. Why was she so keen to avoid talking to him?

He glanced in his rearview mirror as he drove away. Carol was talking animatedly to Paul who swayed slightly as he looked at the ground. They didn't much resemble a happy couple.

* * *

The night had started off so promisingly. Gordon knew he looked rather handsome in his new casual suit, and a refreshing shower in the pricey but very acceptable five-star hotel had done wonders for his mood. Some of the guys who'd turned up told stories that took Gordon back to the glory days of his time at W.A.S.P., and he found himself genuinely enjoying himself for the first time all day. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to speak to _real_ people, people he wasn't related to and didn't live _and_ work with every second of the day.

But by midnight things took a change for the worst. The others had left, using an early work morning as an excuse, leaving Paul and Gordon alone at the last bar they'd staggered into.

Paul made a belligerent drunk.

'You know,' Paul slurred out as he propped himself up at the bar, 'I bet you thought you'd always get the best W.A.S.P. girl, eh? With your Daddy's money and your looks and Olympic medals!'

Gordon kept silent, and resisted a temptation to lay his head on the bar and fall into a stupor.

'But I suppose some girls can overlook that, man,' Paul continued. 'She loves me you know. I'm the best man…I mean _I'm_ the groom…ya know what I mean.'

'Yeah,' Gordon answered, hoping Paul wouldn't get any more sour.

'You know,' said Paul conspiratorially, putting his arm around Gordon's shoulder, 'I know you were cutting in, eh? Hitting on my girl…'

'Hitting on _your_ girl?' Gordon muttered, but Paul didn't seem to hear him.

'But that's alright. It all worked out in the end…for the best.'

Paul then slumped almost over, and the barman glanced at Gordon. Yep, time to go, Gordon nodded to the unspoken request.

Gordon hailed a taxi and managed to get Paul's home address from him. Paul slumped to one side and Gordon watched him closely for any sign that he was about to throw up so he could push his head out of the window if needed.

Gordon pondered what Paul had meant by saying that he'd _cut in on his girl?_ As far as he knew, Carol had gotten together with Paul long after Gordon's accident had forced him to leave W.A.S.P.

When they pulled up, Gordon asked the driver to wait just in case it was the wrong address.

Staggering over flowerbeds and tripping up the paved path to the door, Paul seemed to wake up a little.

'The shed, man. The shed. I saw you.'

Gordon nearly missed the comment, and he was too drunk to really puzzle it out right at that moment.

The door was bathed in darkness, and Gordon found the key after riffling Paul's trouser pockets. He tried, and failed, several times to put the key in the lock. He started swearing under his breath.

The door suddenly opened, a bright light dazzling him. He blinked and then saw Carol, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She looked like a bleary supermodel just gotten out of bed.

Of course she's gotten out of bed, thought Gordon. It must be well after 2am.

She grabbed Paul by the arm and tried to pull him through the doorway. Gordon helped by pushing him hard on the butt, since Paul seemed to have forgotten that he needed to move his feet to propel himself forward. Paul shook his head as if to wake himself up, and staggered into the house, bumping into the walls as he went.

Carol turned and stood blocking the door. She didn't look at Gordon but past him, out into the darkness. Confused, Gordon turned, and realised she was looking at the cab. When he turned back, a look of relief was on her face.

'Thanks,' she said. Even in his pickled state he knew that the thanks was not only for bringing her drunk fiancé home, but also because he'd been smart enough to have a cab waiting to take him away immediately.

She stepped back and shut the door in his face.

As he made his way back to the cab, a new decision started percolating in his head.


	5. Chapter 5

**Note: I updated this chapter on the 26-Feb – just slight edits - no major plot changes. If you've already read it there is no need to do so again.**

* * *

Chapter 5

The following day, Gordon landed at Brisbane Airport. A quick check of the TV news headlines in the airport lounge gave him all the information he needed. He hired a car and started the long drive north to Hervey Bay. Somewhere off its coastline marine biologists, accompanied by the media and various sightseers and animal lovers, were searching for Migaloo4.

He arrived mid-afternoon only to find every hotel, motel, and camping ground booked out, the streets of the popular tourist town choked with cars and media vans.

He gave up looking for a room, and went to the docks to hire a boat. Unfortunately, everything from luxury yacht to one-man canoe had been hired, and most were already out at sea.

He spent an hour asking the few remaining boats if they'd be willing to take on an extra passenger but none could. Just as he was getting desperate, a local, sitting on a bench watching all the goings-on, called him over and gave him a name. Someone called Danno who had a trawler called _Chuckles_ was a crewman short.

Gordon wandered the docks asking after the _Chuckles_, which made some of the other skippers chuckle knowingly. Gordon didn't ask why. Soon he found her on his own.

Danno was a man of great height, and almost matching breadth, with a red sparse beard and a jolly, if slightly fake, laugh.

Danno looked Gordon up and down and announced that he was a fit sort, especially for an American. His regular deckhand was sick after a heavy night of drinking and he needed a fill-in crew member.

'You'll do,' Danno said, adding, 'no charge.'

Gordon was unsure that getting a free ride was a good thing. He might have more say where they'd go if he paid. But Danno was adamant that he'd take no money.

'When do we leave,' Gordon asked, looking over the ramshackle trawler.

'Now,' Danno said with a laugh.

* * *

Gordon lay on some coiled ropes in the back of the trawler, looking up at the stars. He held a three-quarter empty bottle of Johnny Walker Scotch in his hand. He took a swig, even as the still working part of his rational brain told him that getting drunk at sea was not a good idea and he would regret it in the morning.

Inga, the female part of a Swedish couple Danno had let pay him to come onboard, stumbled over to him and reached for the bottle. She smiled flirtatiously at him, which he didn't mind at all because she was as pretty and as scantily clad as Swedish tourists always seemed to be. Her boyfriend, whose name Gordon hadn't quite caught, was talking to Danno and his deckhand Carl in stumbling English. Carl hadn't lifted a finger since they'd left port. He was related to Danno somehow and now Gordon understood why Danno needed a second deckhand – to do the actual work.

The boyfriend turned and smiled at Gordon as Inga waved the bottle around to show everyone she had retrieved it. Gordon couldn't decide which of the couple flirted with him more, and their strange triangular relationship sent his mind back to the conversation he'd had with Paul only yesterday.

What had Paul meant when he'd said Gordon was cutting in on _his_ girl?

Inga carried the bottle off to share with the other men. Gordon smiled at no-one in particular and lay back. The night was clear but slightly chilled.

In less than a minute he was asleep.

* * *

He groaned as he sat up. The sun had been up for a couple of hours. The alcohol-fueled headache hurt his head only slightly more than the bruises the coiled ropes had imprinted on his back.

He staggered to the cabin where Danno was steering while searching the horizon.

'How ya feeling?' he laughed as he passed Gordon a bottle of water. The water tasted of rust, but Gordon knew that was more to do with the state of his ashy mouth than the quality of the water.

The radio chatter from other boats suggested that the whale was somewhere south-east, but Danno doubted it.

'There's a little island south of here that whales sometimes hang around to hide from the tourists,' he said.

Gordon felt deflated. It was dawning on him that he'd been stupid to think that he would find Migaloo4 personally, as if the Universe owed him that much. He couldn't quite say what he would do if he found the whale, other than radio the authorities to send out a marine biologist. A sudden image of him diving into the sea with a needle and thread clamped between his lips, ready to sew up the whale's wounds, made him blush.

They spent the next few hours heading for the island. Although he felt awful, Gordon busied himself in helping Danno keep the boat moving. Carl was in his bunk sleeping off his hangover, while Inga and her boyfriend lazed on deck getting a tan.

Just before midday, Lady Luck smiled on them. Danno spotted whales and swung the boat toward them.

Gordon dashed to the bow with the binoculars.

'Yeah, it's whales alright,' he shouted out, watching whale backs breaking the waterline – and then a white tail!

'Migaloo!' Gordon shouted out and actually jumped up and down like an excited kid. Inga and her boyfriend cheered.

'We'll get closer and then I'll get on the radio to call it in,' Danno said. 'We'll tell the media – they'll get out here faster than the authorities.'

Gordon nodded, suddenly serious. That was all they could do.

As they got closer they saw there were two other whales with Migaloo4.

Gordon heard Danno trying to raise someone on the radio while he looked through the binoculars trying to see the white whale's injuries. Danno's voice grew more and more frustrated.

'Er, I think the radio is broke,' Danno said sheepishly as Gordon came into the cabin to see what was up. 'We can receive but we can't send.'

What Lady Luck gives with one hand, the Universe takes away with the other, Gordon thought.

* * *

It was mid-afternoon. Danno was still tracking the whales, anxiously watching the sky for planes and helicopters. He was worried that a good-for-nothing journalist would spot the whales and thereby steal his thunder, not to mention the fame and any money he could make from interviews about how he found the whale first.

Gordon had the radio in bits on the cabin floor. It was easily fixed except that there were no spare parts onboard and the radio was so old that some of the corroded wires had broken apart as soon as he'd touched them.

'It worked the last time I used it,' Danno muttered.

Gordon didn't bother asking when that had actually been. He picked up a screwdriver to make one last attempt.

The trawler came to a sudden unnatural stop, throwing Gordon into the bulkhead.

'What the hell!' Danno cursed. Gordon picked himself up, blinking.

The boat groaned and rattled as if it was falling to bits. Danno shut off the engines and silence fell.

'Er,' said Danno. 'We hit something.'

Gordon immediately thought of Migaloo4. This was not going to work for him – hitting the whale twice!

Carl appeared rubbing his arm which he'd hurt when he was tossed from his bunk. Inga and her boyfriend yelled from where they had picked themselves up from the deck.

The three men looked out of the cabin window at the bow.

It was buckled in places, the wood splintered badly.

'Er…we're taking on water,' said Danno, stating the obvious since all of them could see Inga and her boyfriend frantically pointing at the water that was spilling across the deck.

Gordon knew enough about the hazards of the sea to guess what they'd hit, and it wasn't a whale.

* * *

It had taken twenty minutes for the boat to sink after it had hit the submerged rocks.

This gave Carl enough time to gather water, flares and the two life-vests while Gordon and Danno studied the out-of-date map. Since the sea doesn't change much from one decade to the next, Gordon was pretty sure the map was still accurate.

The closest landmass was a tiny islet that lay nearly half a nautical mile to the west. The Australian coastline lay a further two nautical miles beyond that.

On the map the islet looked tiny but Gordon pushed that worry to the back of his mind.

He insisted that Inga and her boyfriend be given the life-vests. Gordon was a great swimmer and Danno clearly was too big for a vest to fit. Carl could fend for himself as far as Gordon was concerned.

As they swam in the general direction of the islet, Danno worried about sharks until he got tired and then he concentrated on just breathing in and out. The floating Swedes were used by the others as resting points. Gordon used the compass built into his watch to keep them on track, but it was hard to read in the bright glare and the salty water made his vision blur.

At last he saw waves breaking mid-sea. Silently thanking the Powers That Be that the current was working with them, Gordon pulled Inga along towards it telling her to kick. Danno clung to her boyfriend and kicked like a mule in a last effort to get to safety.

About thirty minutes after they'd abandoned ship, they climbed onto the rocky beach of the islet.

After taking a few minutes to recover, Gordon stood up and realised that the islet was nothing _but_ a rocky beach. At about seventy metres long and twelve metres wide it offered nothing but an uncomfortable place to sit.

Gordon turned to the others. Danno was still gasping for breath like a beached whale. The Swedes were hugging each other but quiet. The deckhand was sitting with his head in his hands coughing up water. Either that or he was sobbing, Gordon couldn't tell.

'We're in real trouble,' Danno said when Gordon leaned over him to check how he was. 'Carl dropped the flares and the water I told him to bring.'

Gordon nodded and turned and looked out over the water to the west. He thought he could see the coastline as he squinted into the low sun but it might just have been an optical illusion. He was too exhausted and dehydrated too even think about attempting to swim it.

Gordon played with a button on his wristwatch.

'Do you think this islet goes under with the high tide, Danno?'

'Dunno. Probably…maybe…just a foot or so.'

Gordon grimaced. Even if high tide didn't put some of it under water during the night, all that was needed was a brisk wind to push waves over the low lying islet to endanger them. That's if dehydration didn't get them first.

Gordon checked how much water they had. The Swedes had stuck one bottle each into their life-vests. Gordon hadn't carried anything given that he was pulling the others along and using the compass. Two bottles wouldn't do the four of them much good for long. He could've drunk both of them right then and still been thirsty.

He had no choice.

'How's Carl?' he asked Danno. Danno shifted over to Carl and patted him on the head in an attempt to calm him. With the skipper distracted, Gordon turned his back on the group and picked his way through the rocks to stand a little distance off. He heard someone start sobbing and he didn't want to look in case it was someone other than Inga.

He pressed the button to contact Thunderbird 5.

'Gordon to Thunderbird 5. Come in Thunderbird 5.'

'Thunderbird 5 receiving. Hey, Gordon, what's up? Where are you calling from? My monitor puts you off the coastline of…'

'Shutup, John, and listen,' he whispered.

He could barely make out John's face in the watchcom because of the slanting sunlight.

'Why are you whispering? I can hardly hear…'

'Shutup!' Gordon said louder than he'd wanted. The sobbing behind him had stopped. He looked around at the others. Danno and Inga were watching him.

Danno turned to look at the top of Carl's head.

'Yeah,' Danno said, 'crying won't help us, mate.' Danno then started talking to the others in reassuring tones.

Relieved that the others thought he was telling Carl to shutup, Gordon turned and looked back down into his watch.

'John, listen. Don't interrupt. I'm currently sitting on a lump of rock with four other people. We can't swim anywhere and it may end up under water by nightfall. I want you to contact the Australian coast guard and tell them where we are so they can pick us up…'

'But they'll know that one of you is with International Rescue…' John protested.

Gordon grit his teeth.

'Listen to me, John. Just do as I say. Tell them you picked up our radio calls or something. Make something up - be imaginative!'

'I'll contact Dad…'

'Don't you dare! Just call the coast guard. They're closer.'

'Well, I can't _not_ tell Dad.

'Yes, you can.'

'I don't think you understand the position you…'

'Yes, I do, but I can't call the coast guard myself, otherwise I would. And there's no point in sending a 'bird all this way when all I need is a helicopter, and hell, there are hundreds of them flying around looking for this damn whale…all I need is someone to tell one of them to divert this way. And that someone…the only someone right now…is you. So don't think, just do…'

'But…'

'John, stop being such an old woman!' Gordon hissed.

'Right,' said John decisively. 'I have your coordinates…'

Gordon snapped off the comlink. He didn't want to have a three hour conversation over something this simple.


	6. Chapter 6

**Ok, so here is Chapter 6. There are only 4 chapters to go (yes, I do know how this is all gonna end up for poor Gordon).**

**Just a note - I've updated the previous 5 chapters today (26-Feb) – just a few minor edits (eg, replacing _your_ with _you're, _etc). There are no plot changes, so there's no need to re-read previous chapters (unless you really want to).**

**So, on with the story…remember Gordon got shipwrecked…**

Chapter 6

The five castaways sat on the little rocky islet and waited. The sun had set. A disturbing blackness crept toward them from the east as the last of the twilight evaporated away to the west. Too soon they were enveloped in total darkness.

A breeze had risen at sunset, which soothed their reddened skins. Gordon just hoped the weather held out. He was confident that high tide wouldn't come before another six hours. Danno agreed but then said he wasn't sure.

So much for the expertise of a local seadog, Gordon thought.

The four of them shared the last dregs of the water and then fell silent. Gordon checked his watch, its fluorescent hands showed just after 8:00pm. He thought out the timeline – if John had contacted the local authorities immediately and it took them an hour to organise the search, then he reckoned they should be here in another hour at the very latest. If they didn't turn up by 9:00pm, he'd start panicking.

Gordon felt guilty about ordering John not to alert their father about his predicament, but he was also worried that John _hadn't _contacted the authorities right away. If John had delayed, even by fifteen minutes, he'd give him a piece of his mind when next they met.

As he ruminated on the exact words he'd use, Carl said he could hear something.

Gordon only heard the waves lapping the rocks. But then he did hear something.

Yes, there it was again. Engines. Definitely engines. Probably a helicopter. As it drew nearer he heard something more - a high-pitched squealing.

Not a helicopter. That was the squeal of a jet engine. A very powerful jet engine.

A light off to the east grew quickly brighter. Gordon knew what it was - the searchlight under the nosecone of Thunderbird 1. He also knew that Scott would be pinpointing their location using the inbuilt transmitter in Gordon's wristcom watch.

Danno started shouting as the light grew steadily nearer, then gave a shrill cry in pain, and then shouted some more. Gordon could tell, even in the darkness, that the skipper was standing up and waving his arms around. That won't help much, Gordon thought, but he joined the others and started waving and shouting as well.

The searchlight swung to and fro until it finally found them.

'This is International Rescue,' Scott's voice boomed out from Thunderbird 1's speaker. 'Another craft will be here shortly to drop a life bell to you. You will then be carried to the nearest shore where local authorities will assist you. In the meantime, I will drop you water and life-vests. Please put the vests on as a safety precaution. Wave if you understand.'

They waved and shouted madly.

Thunderbird 1 lowered a cable with life-vests. Carl said 'wow' as Gordon unclipped them, as if they were gold bars from heaven.

The 'bird moved away a few hundred metres. Gordon had forgotten how _loud _that craft's engines were. Brains was going to have to work on that. Scott turned the searchlight slightly away so the little group could still see but wasn't directly blinded by it.

They put on their vests and drank from the attached water bottles.

Soon after Carl pointed out another light in the east and they began getting excited again. The light grew bigger and a second set of roaring engines could be heard.

Thunderbird 2 flew in and hovered directly over them. Carl said 'wow' again. A slot under its nose opened and a rescue bell lowered on the end of a thick cable. Luckily, as there was no wind, it descended directly toward them without a waver.

Virgil's voice boomed out over his speaker.

'Everyone climb in and secure yourselves inside. When you're all secure, depress the speaker button and tell me you're ready to go.'

Gordon was relieved to see that Alan wasn't in the bell ready to stick his head out to ask him a dozen questions. Their father had probably thought it was safest to keep his two youngest and most talkative sons away from each other.

They were careful not to trip as they helped each other climb into the bell which was hovering about half a metre off the ground. Danno was hauled in last and Gordon noticed he had blood on his leg.

'Slipped on a rock when I jumped up to wave,' said Danno with a bit of embarrassment. Then he laughed. 'Lucky it's not me head.'

They attached themselves to the safety lines and held onto the inner rails just to be doubly sure they didn't accidentally pitch out as they travelled. Carl, who was closest to the speaker, hit a button and said, 'A.O.K.'

'Hold on,' Virgil replied.

They felt the 'bird move away and carry them aloft.

'How'd they find us?' Danno said out of the blue.

'May be they picked up your radio signal,' Gordon answered.

Carl shrugged, either meaning he had no opinion, he didn't know, or he didn't care.

Danno shook his head.

'But I wasn't asking for rescue. I was trying to tell the media we'd found where the whale was.'

Gordon didn't answer. He felt the urge to confess, but then reminded himself that he could hardly trust someone who thought it was fine to take four people out to sea with no radio and only two life-vests just to sell a story to the media. Who knew what Danno would do if he found out a member of International Rescue had been on his boat.

Within fifteen minutes the rescue bell was being lowered onto a beach. It touched the sand gently and Gordon gave himself a mental note to tell Virgil what a nice piece of precise work it was.

Virgil told them to disembark quickly, but safely, and then to move away immediately.

Gordon got out first. He looked around quickly and saw Thunderbird 1 resting on the main road just beyond the beach. It was surrounded by police cars.

Carl climbed out of the bell and looked for a moment as if he was going to kiss the ground, until Danno, coming out behind him, nearly tripped over him. He pushed Carl forward towards the waiting ambulances just beyond the sand. Both limped away.

Such gentlemen, Gordon thought as he turned to help Inga step out of the bell. She was holding her boyfriend's hand as if they were super-glued together. Once on terra firma the couple shuffled off awkwardly towards the waiting paramedics. Gordon attempted to jog after them, but his legs screamed out in protest and he, too, ended up doing a clumsy shuffle.

He caught a sudden flash of blue near one of the two ambulances. It was Scott. Gordon averted his eyes and limped to the other ambulance. He struggled into the back of it before the surprised paramedic had time to ask him how he was.

Gordon heard several 'wows' as people stopped to watch Thunderbird 2 rise up and arc away under full throttle, but he was too busy lying down on one of the trolleys. If Scott suddenly appeared for a talk, he could pretend to be semi-conscious.

A paramedic helped Carl into the back of the ambulance and then shut the door. As the man assessed them for injuries the ambulance took off, siren blaring.

* * *

It was a short ride to the local clinic. Besides, the nearest hospital was an hour's drive away and they weren't injured badly enough to need admission there. Gordon assumed the sirens were being sounded just to amuse the ambulance officers who probably didn't get to use them very often in this neck of the woods.

At the clinic the rescue 'victims', as the doctor called them, were quickly piled into three cubicles. Gordon and Danno shared one since Carl complained he couldn't stand to be near Danno's bloody leg. They were given water first and a nurse applied cream on their sunburned skin, while the doctor stitched up the cut on Danno's thigh, which turned out to be minor. They all got vitamin shots and painkiller tablets. Danno was also given a free cholesterol, heart and blood pressure check and much tut-tutting from the doctor and nurse about junk food and drink.

Gordon just wanted to lie down and sleep but the cubicle's narrow examination bed would barely accommodate him.

When the doctor left to attend to Carl, who they could hear complaining about a sore toe, Gordon turned to Danno.

'When do you think we can get back to Hervey Bay?' he asked.

'Dunno. Someone'll give us a lift. Maybe in the morning.'

A police officer walked into the cubicle.

She nodded at both men, and opened her notebook.

'Just a couple of questions if you feel up to it,' she said, all business.

Danno noticeably blanched.

'You the owner of the boat?' she pointed her pen at Gordon.

Gordon shook his head. Danno pointed to himself reluctantly.

The officer's 'couple of questions' actually turned out to be a barrage. Seemingly, Danno and the _Chuckles_, were famous in these parts. She wanted to know about the state of the boat, the state of its safety equipment, and why they had hit rocks.

Gordon kept quiet as Danno provided a version that painted the trip in better light than the reality.

She asked if they had contacted International Rescue.

'Dunno. Didn't you call them?' Danno said to her.

She looked momentarily confused and then realised he hadn't meant her personally but the authorities in general.

'No,' she said. 'They contacted us about an hour before they plucked you out of the water.'

Danno shrugged. 'Wasn't us – unless they picked up our radio signals.'

'I thought you said that your radio didn't work,' the officer said flicking through her notes. Gordon knew from experience that investigators in uniform were as sharp as tacks, and this woman was no different. She was looking for inconsistencies to pin on them.

'Maybe we could send out but not receive?' Danno almost pleaded. 'Although how they could pick it up and not you, I dunno…'

Gordon felt like a cornered rat. It wouldn't take long for someone to figure out that one of the 'victims' must've called International Rescue by some means other than the radio on the sunken _Chuckles_. He'd have to contact John and make sure that he'd convinced the authorities that Thunderbird 5 had picked up a call from the _Chuckles_. That might put to rest Danno's questions about how International Rescue knew they were in trouble before they'd struck the rocks.

The officer turned to him.

'And you are?'

'Gordon Bellary,' he lied smoothly. If Danno's memory for names was as bad as it was for basic boat maintenance, then he'd be safe. He was sure he hadn't mentioned his last name to any of the others.

'American?' the officer asked blandly.

'Yes,' Gordon said.

The officer looked at him questioningly.

'I'm here on a holiday. Just thought I'd go out to look for this whale everyone's been talking about.'

'Any ID?'

'I don't have any, sorry. It was on the boat.' He actually had a finance card in his shorts pocket, something he always carried with him in case, well, he got stuck in an emergency and needed access to cash or credit.

The officer seemed satisfied with that. He must look like any of the thousands of bedraggled American backpackers wandering the east Australian coast.

She asked him if he had anything further he'd like to add to Danno's statement. Gordon shook his head.

'Well, if you both can give me details where you can be found, there may be more questions over the next few days as we investigate further.'

Danno gave his address in Hervey Bay. Gordon said, quite honestly, he wasn't staying anywhere since he was in between lodgings.

'He'll be staying with me,' Danno offered helpfully.

The officer nodded.

'Can someone give us a lift to Hervey Bay?' Danno added.

'Sorry, you're on your own. There is a bus that stops about two kilometres up the road on the way north. You can get that first thing in the morning.'

She turned without a further word and left.

'A friendly sort,' said Danno.

They decided they would go to a pub that Danno had seen across the road as they'd arrived. If there was nowhere local for them to stay the night at least they might be able to get something to eat.

They found Carl who was still complaining about his foot. It couldn't have been that serious since the doctor hadn't even bothered to bandage it. Gordon followed Danno and Carl as they crossed the foyer to the exit. As Carl opened the door, Inga's excited voice drifted in from outside.

Gordon stopped dead as Danno pushed Carl out of the way and stepped through the clinic doorway throwing his arms up in welcome. In the car park a throng of people and news cameras turned towards the skipper.

Gordon moved to the window, peering through the blinds, making sure he kept out of sight. He watched Danno talking animatedly into microphones and could just hear his voice through the thick glass. He told the tale of how they'd chased Migaloo4 and were trying to help the whale when the boat hit rocks. He pointed to his leg to show where he'd been injured when the boat sunk. He told them about the arrival of International Rescue, adding embellishments as he went.

By morning, Gordon was sure, Danno would have them being saved during a cyclone with rabid sharks snapping at their heels.

One of the newshounds asked for everyone's names, and realising that there was one less person than name, asked where the other 'victim' was.

Gordon had heard enough. He retraced his steps to the back of the clinic. The nurse ignored him as he passed her on his way to the men's toilet.

He couldn't afford to have his face put on the airwaves. It wouldn't take long for someone to recognise him as Gordon Tracy, son of _the_ Jeff Tracy, billionaire industrialist. That would go down well on Tracy Island. And what would Carol think when she saw him being rescued from the Pacific after chasing a whale, only days after he'd sat opposite her at lunch? The jetset are strange indeed, he imagined her telling Paul.

What was he going to do now?

His watch chirped, snapping him out of his reverie.

He hit the button to take the call, expecting to see John.

His father's face glared out at him.

'What the hell do you think you're_ doing_?' Jeff spluttered out.

Gordon said nothing, just stared into the watch face trying to think of something intelligent to say.

'Why haven't you called? And how did you get to Australia?'

'I flew,' Gordon said redundantly, but he thought literal answers were the safest option at that moment.

'_Why_ are you there? Don't tell me to save that damn whale.'

'Ok.'

If his father didn't want to know the answer he shouldn't ask the question.

'Where are you now?' Jeff ground out, looking like he wanted to put his hands through the watch screen and strangle him.

'In a clinic.' Now was not the time to tell his father he was hiding in a toilet while a rabid media scrum prowled outside.

'Well, get back to the jet and come back to the Island _now_.'

'No,' said Gordon.

'WHAT!'

'No, I'm going to go out tomorrow and find Migaloo4.'

Up until that moment Gordon hadn't actually known what he was going to do next, other than evade the press, get something to eat, get some sleep and get back to his rental car. But now he knew he couldn't leave until the fate of Migaloo4 was resolved, for good or bad.

'No, you will not, Gordon, you will come home,' his father said in his most commanding voice that warned he would brook no disobedience.

'No,' Gordon replied.

'Gordon, if you don't come home now, you _won't _come home at all.'

'Fine.'

Although it took several swacks against the side of the sink, Gordon managed to reduce the watch to a pulverised mess.

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

**I really tried to get this story finished up this week, but I started full-time study in the last couple of weeks and I've been distracted. Anyway, enough of my problems, Gordon's got worse ones…**

**Remember – he's hiding in the toilet from a media scrum and has just had an argument with his father which resulted in him destroying his watch comlink…**

Chapter 7

Danno knocked on the door of the men's toilet. Gordon scraped up the last of the broken watchcom and stuffed it into his shorts pocket. God forbid if he threw it in the trash and later someone found the transmitter, got suspicious, and traced it back to Tracy Island. It was an unbelievably remote possibility but with his luck it would probably happen.

Gordon opened the door and gave a grimace while holding his stomach. Danno patted him on the shoulder with a nod as if to say we are all men here and he understood.

Danno told him that the media pack had left as soon as they'd found out that the _Chuckles _hadn't really gotten that close to Migaloo4 and that it had sunk because of suspected un-seaworthiness. This last piece of information was given to the press by the police officer, which clearly offended Danno, even if it was the truth.

'They kept asking if I'd hit the whale,' Danno said in amazement. 'Like I would tell 'em even if I had of. That'd be crazy. I'd be called Danno the Whale Killer.'

'I wouldn't tell anyone either if I'd hit the whale,' Gordon muttered, then, seeing the look of hurt on Danno's face, added quickly, 'not that you hit the whale or anything. I know that!'

Danno nodded grimly. He had more problems to think about anyway. It turned out that Carl had phoned his mother, even after Danno had given express instructions not to, and told her he'd been shipwrecked and was now getting medical treatment for a sore toe.

'I could ring his neck,' Danno frowned. 'She's coming to pick us up, and drive us back to Hervey Bay. I can tell you, I'm not looking forward to seeing Lorraine.'

Danno explained that Lorraine was his brother's second wife, making Carl his nephew by marriage. Gordon picked up that there was bad blood between Danno and Lorraine.

Soon all five 'victims' were sitting outside the clinic waiting for Lorraine, who was due to arrive in a couple of hours. Gordon checked his watch a few times only to remember each time he stared at his naked wrist that he had smashed it.

He just wanted to get back to his hire car. It was registered in his real name and it wouldn't take the police long to identify Gordon Bellary as Gordon Tracy if the car was found abandoned later on. It would raise too many sticky questions, and he'd already collected enough of those.

They were all sitting silently, each with their own thoughts, when Lorraine drove up in a clapped out sedan. With pursed lips and hands set on her hips she looked in the mood for an argument when Carl asked if she could drive the others back as well.

'I don't seem to have a choice,' she grumbled. Unluckily for Danno he got to sit in the front passenger seat where he had to listen to Lorraine giving him a piece of her mind and demanding that he keep her awake so she didn't cross lanes into the path of an overnight haulage truck.

The rest squished into the back seat where Inga sat half on her boyfriend and half on Gordon. Carl fell quickly asleep and began snoring. It was nearly 2:30am when they set off back to Hervey Bay, Gordon dozing on and off the whole way.

The sun was nearly rising when they arrived in Hervey Bay. Lorraine dropped Danno, Gordon and the Swedes off at Danno's place and then took her son home so she 'could look after him properly.' She accepted Gordon's thanks with pursed lips and a scolding look at Danno.

Danno had no key, but it turned out he had the next best thing - a wife, called Sylvie, who he woke up by shouting out her name under the bedroom window. She wasn't too happy at being woken up and she didn't want to hear Danno's tale about his sunken boat as she let them in. She went promptly back to bed.

Danno raided the fridge and cooked up bacon and eggs. After scoffing this meal they each found a couch or chair to lay on and each grabbed some sleep. Danno decided he shouldn't push his luck with 'the wife' and lay down in the hammock on the back verandah.

Gordon woke just before midday feeling that he still had a sleep deficit of about twelve hours. Inga was coming out of the shower drying her hair. Sylvie said hello and gave him a towel. He thankfully went into the bathroom. Glancing in the bathroom mirror, he saw a man who looked like he'd been shipwrecked.

Later he found Danno sitting on the back verandah drinking a beer and eating some chicken. Gordon declined the offer of a half eaten drumstick.

He was eager to get to his car and head back to Brisbane.

'Sorry to see you go, mate. You were the only sensible one. But do me a favour, will ya? Take the blondes with ya. Don't think me wife wants them around. And, you know, it would do me a bigger favour if none of you woz witnesses, eh?'

Gordon was as eager as Danno not to have to answer any more questions from the police. They agreed that the three of them would 'shoot through' and a suitably bewildered Danno would tell the police that he hadn't a clue where they had gone.

With a friendly smack on his back from Danno, who despite everything they'd been through Gordon would miss, he and the Swedes got into Sylvie's car. She drove them to the port street where Gordon thought he'd parked his rental car. It was only when they found it that he realised he didn't have the unlocking control. It was now at the bottom of the sea with the _Chuckles_.

Sylvie had her phone with her and she called roadside assist. Sylvie turned out to be a cheery person and she told them they were lucky to be alive since Danno had a history of trouble at sea and with the police.

'He always blames the sea or the boat, but I always tell him he's the common denominator,' she said ruefully.

Gordon wondered why she was so happy, but then she explained that the _Chuckles_ was well insured and at last they would be able to buy a decent trawler. She had plans to force Danno to sell up his business so they could move to the city. Danno could then get a proper job.

Gordon smirked to himself – he wondered what Danno's would say to that.

A short time later the technician had unlocked the car, Gordon had found the spare electronic key in the glove compartment, and he and the Swedes waved goodbye to Sylvie as they drove off. Gordon found an automatic teller machine and withdrew as much cash as his limit allowed. If the police traced it, too bad. The Swedes didn't want to head south to Brisbane, since they'd already been there and had been heading north before their misadventure with Danno. Gordon gave them a large wad of cash since they'd lost everything when the _Chuckles_ had sunk. The grateful Swedes gave Gordon heartfelt hugs and kisses that left him in no doubts that if he'd wanted to spend the next few weeks partying hard with them it would've proved a very interesting time.

He waved them on their way and then started the long drive back to Brisbane.

* * *

His luck didn't hold out. He ran into a traffic jam on the coast road, just passed the very township in which they'd spent the previous night.

Police and media vans were parked precariously on both sides of the road and he stuck his head out of his window to ask someone what was happening.

'They found that whale. Just off the beach,' the man said. 'It's gotten messed up in shark nets or something.'

Gordon felt like he'd just been told the northern hemisphere had been obliterated by a meteor.

It took twenty minutes to cover the next kilometre. He finally gave up and at the first gap on the side of the road, illegally parked his car. He got out and followed some people in uniform who looked like wildlife rangers. Thirty minutes later he found himself on a small, remote beach crowded with about one hundred people.

Boats were out on the water, including official coast guards and others commissioned by the media. Two helicopters circled overhead.

Gordon couldn't see anything. A woman nearby was picking up live news feeds on her mobile phone. She kept a running commentary on what was happening to those gathered around her.

Migaloo4 was caught up in some fish netting. The coast guard had tried to cut the whale free but had failed. They were worried about Migaloo4 becoming more entangled in its distress and drowning.

'Ohhh,' she said suddenly. 'Something major is happening.'

Everyone looked out to sea where the boats circled tightly. They suddenly turned and moved off from where Gordon assumed the whale was.

Just then a policeman with a loud hailer came up behind the crowd and announced that no-one was to attempt to take film or photos. A news cameraman, who'd been interviewing people in the crowd for their opinions, grumbled.

The woman with the phone shouted out, 'It's International Rescue! They've just announced that International Rescue is on its way to save Migaloo4!'

Everyone looked out to sea expectantly but saw nothing. Several minutes went by before a man with binoculars pointed at the horizon.

'I see them! I see them!' he yelled. His ten year old son, jumping up and down, demanded his father give him the binoculars but he was ignored.

Gordon looked to the horizon and his heart leapt.

Thunderbird 1 zoomed in at great speed and arced around the little bay, swooshing directly over the beach before it turned back to sea and hovered high above where Migaloo4 was.

Within minutes Thunderbird 2 appeared, hovering several hundred metres away from the whale's position so its engine noise didn't distress it.

'What are they gonna do, Dad?' asked the son who'd finally gotten the binoculars off his reluctant father.

'Just wait and see. Probably use that submarine thingee they've got.'

Thunderbird 2 lowered closer to the water and then with a mighty 'splosh' released pod 4 into the sea. After a few seconds the door of the pod opened and Thunderbird 4 shot out into the water.

'Wow,' said Dad and son together.

The cameraman cursed. 'The most exciting thing I get near all year, and there jamming us. I can't even get a shot of the crowd's reaction.'

Tough, thought Gordon.

Thunderbird 4 popped up suddenly right where the boats had been earlier. Gordon could just make out the grabbers, but only because he knew where and what they were.

From this distance, nothing much seemed to be happening, but suddenly a white tail flicked from the water right next to the sub. Then something red appeared and Gordon's heart leapt into his throat, until he realised it was the floaters on the netting and not splashes of blood.

Seconds later a white back arced from the water and a plume of water announced that Migaloo4 was now swimming freely, heading for deeper water.

Thunderbird 4 waited for the whale to be out of range, before it turned in a tight circle and engaged its rockets to get back to the pod as quickly as possible.

Two of the official boats headed off after Migaloo4.

'That'll be the marine biologists,' said the woman with the phone, reading something off the news bulletin.

Thunderbird 1 turned and headed towards the beach as the crowd waved and cheered, before shooting off south-east out of sight. Gordon knew that Scott was giving Thunderbird 2 a wide berth so that he wouldn't get in the way as Virgil retrieved the pod.

The crowd ohhed and ahhed as they watched Thunderbird 4 re-enter the pod, the pod close up and Thunderbird 2 lower itself onto it, almost like a reverse birth. Its mighty downward thrusters roared into life, it gained height now with the pod secure, and it turned and headed directly east, out to sea.

Gordon had never seen it from this angle and appreciated for the first time how dangerous the retrieval process was. If anything went wrong, Thunderbird 2 could end up in the water, and possibly sink like a brick.

Once the 'birds were gone Gordon made his way back to the car, thinking about what he'd just seen. He was thrilled that Migloo4 had been saved from immediate danger, but annoyed that his 'bird had been involved in a rescue and he wasn't the pilot. Then he was thrilled again to see the reaction of the crowd. Familiarity with the Thunderbirds had dulled him to the marvel of the technology, and he now realised he was very privileged to be a pilot of one of them. He should tell Brains some time how smart he was for designing them.

Mostly he wished it had been him saving Migaloo4, just as he'd planned when he gone out on the trawler.

When he got into the car, he turned on the radio, and started the long drive back to Brisbane, listening to the breathless news reports all the way.

* * *

**Like I always say 'more soon'. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Here are the last 3 chapters. A thousand apologies for the long delay. I just couldn't seem to get it together to finish it. But now it is done. Yah!**

* * *

Chapter 8

It had been raining fitfully all morning. Gordon's hair was plastered on his head like an amber helmet and his jacket and jeans were wet through. He shrugged off the chill and kept his eyes on the house.

He felt like a stalker. Technically, he supposed, that was what he was.

Two days ago he had touched down in the United States. He'd called Carol at W.A.S.P., but the snooty receptionist announced curtly that she was unavailable. He left a message but it went unanswered.

The following day he called W.A.S.P. every half hour but never actually got to speak with Carol. Gordon had no doubt that Carol was somewhere in the building and available, but he was smart enough not to go there since he was sure security had been told to keep him out.

Now he stood beneath a tree, as the evening approached, trying to shelter from the worst of the rain as he watched Carol's house.

He _would_ see her today.

So he waited.

As day began to turn to night, a car drove up the street and turned into the driveway. Gordon could see the driver was alone, and by the long hair, it wasn't Paul. The automatic garage door lifted and the car drove in.

Jogging briskly, Gordon made it under the door as it started to close.

He saw the driver glance in the rearview mirror and swear.

Stepping out of the car and standing by the open door, Carol looked at him with resigned annoyance.

'Hello,' Gordon said.

'What do you want?' she said flatly.

Gordon wasn't surprised at her tone, given the cold shoulder to his phone calls.

'I tried calling you yesterday and this morning. I have to talk to you.'

'I've been busy. I really don't have the time. I'm going out,' she said. She turned and reached in the car and pulled out a small briefcase from the passenger seat.

'It won't take long,' Gordon said. He would not leave until he knew the truth.

'I really don't have the time,' said Carol, closing the car door, but he noticed she didn't lock it. She clicked the remote on her key ring and the automatic garage door began to grind slowly open. It was clear she wanted him gone. Or was she frightened of him?

Trying to defuse the hostility he stepped back and shrugged. It was clear she was not going to invite him into the house for a coffee even though he was as wet as a drowned rat.

'It will just take two minutes,' he said. 'I just want to know something…why does Paul think you were _his_ girl back before my accident?'

She looked stunned momentarily as if he had reached over and slapped her. Then she recovered and forced her mouth into a grim line. She shook her head and began to move toward the door that connected the house and the garage.

'Oh, come on, Carol,' Gordon said, irritation mixed with frustration and defeat. 'You owe me that much. I need an explanation.'

She didn't respond.

'I thought you got together with him after my accident,' Gordon continued, 'but that doesn't appear to be true.'

She turned suddenly, looking at him in defiance, blue eyes blazing.

'OK. You want the truth?' she said angrily. 'I was with Paul long before you.'

It was his turn to be stunned. He had assumed Paul, drunk as he had been, had his history wrong. It still didn't make sense and he didn't understand why she was so angry with him.

A slightly nasty smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

'Paul and I were together for at least six months – I insisted he keep it quiet. I was worried it would…look bad. Work relationships hurt the woman more than the man, after all.'

'Didn't seem to hurt all that much…' Gordon muttered bitterly.

She shrugged as if she didn't care, but he caught the red splotches on her neck, even in the dim light, and he knew she was shaken by this confrontation.

'We hit a rough patch,' she continued. 'Paul took me for granted, so I cooled it off.'

She paused and looked him up and down as if only now realizing how wet he was and puzzling at his peeling, sunburnt skin.

He thought for a moment she would invite him in for coffee after all, but that hope was dashed as she continued.

'It took him a while to notice that I wasn't really interested in pursing a serious relationship if he couldn't put the work in. When he realised what he'd lost he started pursuing me again…'

It didn't surprise Gordon. Carol was smart, ambitious and demanding and that was what he'd always liked about her. She was a challenge and didn't allow a man to be lazy.

'Are you telling me I was a port in any storm?' he asked.

She sighed in exasperation.

'It wasn't exactly like that Gordon. You were insistent and had been chasing me since the day you arrived at W.A.S.P., so I thought 'what the hell'. I was…you know…on the rebound, so yes it was a fling, but you took it so seriously...'

'Seriously? We talked of love and the future. We practically discussed getting married!'

'I don't remember any of that!' she said angrily. 'It was what it was – a short-term relationship. It's not my fault if you fell too hard. You were young after all.'

Given that Carol was only a year older, the comment stung.

'Well, you didn't try very hard to put me off,' he snapped. 'And to find out that you were just using me to make Paul jealous…!'

'No! I'm not _that_ manipulative. I didn't know Paul suspected anything. As far as I knew he didn't know a thing.'

'Well, he did know. He saw us in the boat shed.'

She frowned as if searching for the memory.

'You do remember the night in the boatshed?' Gordon ground out. 'Or is that something else you've conveniently _forgotten_?'

She looked deeply offended, but it was unconvincing.

'I don't actually,' she said coldly. 'I had other concerns back then. I was fighting for the next promotion while trying to get the last of my studies completed. I can't be expected to remember everything.'

Gordon could remember every moment of it. Carol had been flirting with him since they'd met at W.A.S.P., and, after a hard day of training, they had taken a long walk. It had been her idea to go to the decrepit old boatshed. It was she who'd insisted they stay there even though he had complained about the rats and the cold. She had basically seduced him, although he hadn't needed much prompting since he had healthy hormones and she was a good-looking girl.

He didn't believe a word Carol was saying now. It made too much sense that she'd set that night up specifically for Paul to catch them. And that he was Paul's supervisor would've stung Paul all the more.

'Did you actually ever like me?' Gordon said hotly.

'Yes, of course I did. But it was never serious. You're…'

'I'm what?'

She looked at him haughtily.

'You're…arrogant, Gordon. You've been handed everything on a plate your whole life. Your family's money, your medals, the automatic promotions at W.A.S.P. You've never had to work for anything.'

Gordon almost said _what automatic promotions_, but bit his tongue. Defending himself would not convince her and, anyway, it was no longer important. What was important was to find out how she'd seen their relationship. He would hear her out to the bitter end even if it meant he ended up hating her.

'And besides,' she continued after a moment, 'I couldn't trust you. Women can't trust rich boys.'

So, it became clearer. She had once alluded to her difficult childhood - her alcoholic mother and her father who'd run off when she was little. Her sheer ambition and strength of will had made her such a success at W.A.S.P., but it had a downside. She could be impulsive and thoughtless.

He suddenly knew that she'd played him, even if that hadn't been her intention at the time. He was the rich play boy who she'd conquered and when things got complicated she had planned to discard him like an unimportant trinket. His accident had gotten in the way and so she'd never had to tidy up that loose end.

Paul had a rocky path ahead of him.

He knew he should just turn around and walk away, but he had some pride and he wanted her to know that he didn't believe her.

'I really liked you Carol. That you didn't like me quite as much, and felt fine to use me like that, tells me what a lucky escape I've actually had.'

She snorted in derision, the insult glancing off her.

He walked down the driveway and glanced back. She was still standing in the garage with keys in her hand, waiting, no doubt, to make sure he left.

'Oh, I probably don't have to tell you,' he called out, 'I won't be coming to the wedding.'

* * *

Two more chapters to go…


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Gordon lined up his jet for the final approach to Tracy Island. In the late afternoon sun, from up high, all looked peaceful and inviting.

After his confrontation with Carol he had returned to his hotel room where, watching some TV, he'd seen a news bulletin announce Migaloo4 was now out of danger. He'd phoned home soon after.

His father had cut him off and simply said to come home and they would talk then.

Once on the ground he taxied the jet toward the hanger. A familiar figure strolled across the tarmac towards him.

He slide open the cockpit door and gave Scott a wave. Scott nodded his head and he waited for Gordon to disembark and walk to where he stood. As the last whine of the jet's engines faded, the brothers considered each other.

'Hey, I'm back,' Gordon said sheepishly.

Scott said nothing.

'I'm sorry,' said Gordon suddenly deflated. He fiddled with the jet's headset which he still had in his hands.

'What were you thinking, Gordon?' his older brother sighed in frustration.

'I wasn't thinking.'

Scott shook his head, seemed about to say something then held out his hand for the headset. 'I'll finish up here.'

'Are you sure?' Gordon asked, handing it to him. He was relieved that Scott was offering to do the post-flight checks and stow the jet away. He was so mentally exhausted that he didn't trust he'd get them right anyway.

'Yes. You get to the house,' said Scott.

He was sure Scott had a lot more to say, but their father had made it clear he wanted to see Gordon as soon as he'd landed. Gordon knew it must be taking a lot out of Scott to resist lecturing him. He could take his role as team leader a little too seriously, born from his days in the air force. Sometimes Gordon felt like he had a second father hanging over his shoulder.

Gordon nodded to Scott and walked towards the house. A lecture from his father was going to be more than enough for one day.

*****

Gordon entered the lounge of the sprawling mansion. Virgil was alone, tinkling a slow melody on the piano. He looked up with a small neutral smile of welcome.

'Hey,' said Gordon.

'Hi,' said Virgil. 'You're back.'

Gordon nodded and leaned on the baby grand and watched the hammers plucking the strings as Virgil played.

Neither said anything for a few moments.

'I'm sorry,' said Gordon.

Virgil played more softly, encouraging Gordon to keep talking.

'I was in a bad mood. I had things on my mind. I shouldn't have snapped at you on the mission. I didn't mean it.'

'Ah, you remember,' said Virgil good-temperedly. 'It _was_ a tough mission.'

'No tougher than any other.'

'Yes it was. Bad storm. _Really_ bad storm. And it's not every day a whale gets involved.'

'True, true,' Gordon nodded wearily.

'So, what things were on your mind?' Virgil asked softly.

Gordon propped his head on his hands and could feel the vibrations from the piano through his arms and up to his head. It made his sinuses tingle and a sneeze threatened.

He hadn't planned to tell anyone about Carol. He'd planned to keep that part to himself, but Virgil's quiet and knowing ways could weasel information out of anyone just by knowing what questions _not _to ask.

'A girl,' Gordon said quietly.

'Ah,' said Virgil. 'A girl explains everything.'

'A girl!' a voice shrilled behind him.

Gordon turned his head. Alan glared at him.

'Hey, Alan,' said Gordon.

'Did you just say you ran off because of a girl!' said Alan, outraged.

The tinkling of the piano hesitated and then played a soft run of scales as if it didn't want to get distracted by having to play a proper tune.

'Er…yes, in a way.'

'Who is she?!' demanded Alan, hands on hips.

Perhaps Alan takes after Dad more than Scott, Gordon thought.

'It doesn't matter now,' said Gordon.

'I would think it does matter! Especially if you're willing to run out on us and leave us in the lurch to clean up your whale problem,' snapped Alan.

'Well, I'm sorry, Alan…'

'Sorry! John was in a panic and demanded to come down so he could go looking for you himself, and then Dad was furious with _him _and everyone was in an uproar. And over what? Not a whale after all! But some stupid girl!'

Under normal circumstances Gordon would have been amused by Alan's annoyance and continued to provoke him until he had a full blown tantrum. But the situation was too serious and he felt too ashamed of his behaviour to get any real pleasure out of Alan's anger.

'Was that you piloting Thunderbird 4, Alan?' he asked, hoping his change of subject wasn't too obvious.

Alan looked momentarily wary, but nodded sharply.

'I was on the beach. It was great work. It must've been hard to get close to Migaloo4 without frightening him, and you got him free so quickly.'

It had the desired effect. Alan responded to flattery like a kitten to milk.

'Oh, it wasn't _that _hard,' said Alan cheerfully. 'Although the whale wouldn't hold still,' he added grumpily. 'They're not as smart as people say they are.'

The piano started humming a proper tune again, a perky one that Gordon hadn't heard before.

'No it was great. Everyone on the beach was so impressed. I couldn't have done better myself.'

'Yeah, well,' said Alan smiling smugly. Then he turned serious. 'What's this girl's name anyway?'

Virgil stumbled at a passage of notes. Gordon turned to see Virgil looking a little taken aback, and Gordon worked hard to suppress a smirk. Virgil looked down at the piano keyboard, shaking his head slightly.

Gordon turned to Alan to say something, but the words died on his lips. Jeff had just entered the room. His father pointed to his private study, and strode off towards it.

Gordon straightened and followed his father.

As he reached the door Gordon heard Alan say 'What?' in an annoyed whisper. He could imagine the glare Virgil was giving their little brother. He was sure, once he was out of earshot, Alan would be given strict instructions _not_ to mention Gordon's 'girlfriend problem' to him _ever_.

**********

One more chapter to go!


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

For the next three days Gordon kept a low profile.

The talk with his father had gone better than Gordon had expected.

Jeff seemed tired and distracted, and started off by saying he was worried that the sacrifices he asked of his sons might be too much for them to handle. After all it was a stressful job, full of danger, but also full of stretches of boredom. Working with family members in such close proximity made things more difficult as well. He had sighed and muttered that he sometimes forgot how young they were.

Gordon had sat listening to this in confused silence wondering why his father wasn't chewing him out. When his father finally turned to him, Gordon blurted out a garbled explanation about Carol.

'A girl!' his father shook his head in relief.

Then Jeff became all business. He gave Gordon a short lecture on his need to prove himself reliable and dedicated, essential characteristics for working as part of a team doing a dangerous job. Then his father asked him about where he'd been and what he'd done. Gordon took the hint and gave him a brief, factual outline to assure his father that anyone doing a little digging wouldn't connect him with International Rescue.

Gordon apologised for the twentieth time. Then they hugged, his father back-slapping him vigorously.

He was so relieved afterward that he ate a whole apple pie Grandma had made especially for him.

Later that night Scott had come to Gordon's room to have a 'little talk'. It turned out there had been some Tracy Corp business dealings that their father had been struggling with for months, and that it hadn't helped when Gordon had gone AWOL.

Gordon told Scott about Carol, more than he'd told his father. This lead to a long talk about women and heartache. Scott seemed relieved that Gordon had come to realise what a lucky escape he'd had with Carol.

Scott then told him to make sure he called John in the morning. Alan hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said John was really upset, Scott said. John hadn't been able to think of a plausible reason to give the Australian authorities of how he'd received news of _The Chuckles_ sinking, and he didn't want to risk them thinking it was a hoax in case it left Gordon sitting on a rock in the middle of the night in the middle of the ocean. Besides, he didn't want to hide any request he sent to the authorities from their father since all communications were logged in the Thunderbird 5 computer.

He radioed John in Thunderbird 5 the next morning. Gordon apologised for putting him in the position he had and for generally causing trouble. John had been curt but polite saying it had all turned out for the best, but he couldn't talk because he was monitoring floods in Africa. They'd talk in a few days when he returned.

As if on cue, Gordon heard the faint whine of powerful engines, heard even through the soundproofing of the mansion. The distinctive engines of Thunderbird 3 heralded John's return.

Gordon sighed and stretched on his bed where he'd been taking a late afternoon nap. He wasn't looking forward to facing John since he tended to have only two responses when upset– to sulk or to lecture. And although John could not match the lectures given by either their father or Scott, he could make them last a lo_ng_ time and bring them up repeatedly.

Gordon's plan was to stay in his room while John went through the home return ritual: saying hi to Dad and Grandma (who never missed anyone's return from anywhere if she could help it), having a shower and getting changed, unpacking his space-bag (his slow methodical ways could drive Gordon to distraction), having something to eat while Grandma fussed about trying to get him to eat three things at once, complimenting TinTin on something (usually her hair – John must've been a hairdresser in his last life), and then going out onto the balcony and staring at the sky, sometimes for hours. Adjusting his eyes he would say, but Gordon suspected John just had to prove to himself he was back on Earth and wanted to see, smell and breathe as much as he could as quickly as he could.

Hopefully in a few hours John would be chilled out enough to accept his face-to-face apology and not give him the cold shoulder or start hectoring him.

He rolled over to get more comfortable and try to get back to napping.

Suddenly there was a commotion at the door. He looked up.

Something tall and blond streaked through the door and launched across the room, jumping on the bed and pinning Gordon down before he could react.

John yelled something Gordon couldn't quite understand. A mighty _thwack_ hit Gordon on the shoulder but there wasn't much pain.

'Hey,' Gordon yelped and tried to roll off the bed, but John pulled him back with surprising sinewy strength. Another _thwack _fell on Gordon's back, sounding more impressive than the last.

Gordon looked up at his older brother trying to figure out what he was brandishing.

'Old woman, am I?! Old woman!' John screeched.

He struggled to turn Gordon over, clearly wanting to get his rear-end lined up.

Gordon grabbed John's hand and finally saw what his brother was holding - one of Grandma's soft old slippers.

John broke free of his grasp, brought the slipper down but misjudged his strength and the old slipper, bendy from age and use, flipped out of his hand and landed in the corner behind a chair.

John paused, momentarily dismayed, then he started to tickle Gordon instead. Gordon squealed and a real wrestle began. John was no longer shouting but laughing hard.

Gordon knew then that everything had been forgiven and he was exactly where he was meant to be.

**~The End~**

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